


Baby

by MarcelR



Category: None - Fandom
Genre: F/M, Psychological Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-17
Updated: 2020-08-17
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:48:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 7,983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25959289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MarcelR/pseuds/MarcelR
Relationships: Grace/George





	1. Chapter 1

"Honey? I'm home."

She drops the plate she's drying and spins away from the sink. Her heart picks up and she hurries out of the kitchen and into the hall.

He is standing in the doorway, bathed in the waning light of the setting sun. He looks like what she imagines an angel would.

Beautiful.

He sets down his suitcase, rushes towards her and lifts her up in his strong embrace. She kisses him all over his face, overjoyed that he is back home with her.

It isn't unusual for him to leave on business trips for an extended time - for a few weeks, sometimes over a month. One comes up almost every other week. But she never gets used to it. She can't believe that she'll ever.

"I've missed you so much," she says between kisses. "You won't believe how lonely it gets around here."

"It can't be that bad," he says. "You have the baby with you."

"What?" She pushes back from him. "Silly man. What are you talking about?"

"The baby?" He rolls his eyes. "Our child?"

He's serious, she thinks. She steps back from him.

He sees the confusion in her eyes. His face becomes stone. "Where is the baby?"

***

She sits in the kitchen, stirring her cup of tea, trying to make sense of the madness that is going on in her home.

She fails.

The police go through the house, turning everything over and looking for God-knows-what.

Her husband sits across the table from her, looking at her like she is a monster. And he's probably completely convinced that she is.

"Glory, I'll ask you again…" his voice is strained, words forced through his teeth. "Where is our child? What have you done with our child?"

She can't look at him. She's too afraid. The worst of it is that he doesn't even sound angry. He speaks like one would to a wild animal. Like he's afraid of her.

"George…" She wants to look at him but she can't. She can't believe that this day is real. That anything is. "There is no baby."

"Why are you acting like this?" he finally screams. She's almost relieved to hear it. "Is this a game? Are you hiding him somewhere? Where, Glory? Where?"

A police officer walks, saving her from having to speak. "We've concluded our search of the house, Mr. and Mrs. Jameson," she says. "From all we've seen we can say that there is no evidence of a baby having lived here." She puts her notepad in her pocket. "Forgive my asking, but are you certain that you indeed have a child?"

"Yes!" George slams his fists on the table and Glory inhales sharply as the officer reaches for her gun. "I think I'd remember my wife being pregnant for nine months."

Yes, Glory thinks. I would too.

"And where was the delivery made?" The officer takes out her notepad.

"The Sacred Heart. It's the closest one to the house. I remember driving Glory there myself." He looks to her for support. She looks away.

"We'll make sure to confirm there," the officer says.

George stands. "Are you people -"

"Thank you," Glory says. She looks up at him, meeting his eyes for the first time since he'd arrived. His eyes burn, his mouth quivering. Hers are pleading, yet firm. He holds her gaze for a moment before he looks away.

"Thank you," he says. "I'm sure you'll do everything you can."

"I assure you of that, sir," she says. "Goodnight."

The police leave and they are alone once more. Glory stirs her untouched tea and George stands, gripping the edge of the table.

There is no sound, not of the night, not of strangers tearing her house apart, not of her husband telling her how long he'd waited to see her.

She has no idea how to feel but scared and confused. She's waited two weeks for her husband to come home, each day getting harder than the one before. Now he was here, the table between more distance than she could stand and he will not even look at her.

The silence is deafening and she can't stand it any longer.

"George -"

"I don't know what this is," he says, head still hanging. "I don't know what you're trying to do but it's not funny. I'm not going to beg you any more. If you want to bring him back it's up to you. But once you do -" he shut his eyes and inhaled deeply. "Just…please."

She does not know what to say. The man that she has built her whole life with, the man for whom she left everything she'd ever know, would not even look at her while he threatened her.

All for a baby that she'd never had.

"I…" She still can't form the words, though they are there. She wants to tell him that he's insane.

Instead, she leaves the kitchen, walks past him without even looking at him and heads to their bedroom for a good, long cry.


	2. Chapter 2

She wakes but keeps her eyes shut, just as she did when she had nightmares. Dreams are not real. They cannot hurt you.

She would open her eyes to see George still asleep beside her, exhausted from his travels. She would go down to the kitchen and prepare him a breakfast in bed as she always did when he returned. They would spend the whole day together, just talking and sitting. He wouldn't be too scared or angry to look into her eyes.

Her heart wrenches when she opens her eyes to an empty bed.

Her tears flow hot again. Last night she'd fallen asleep telling herself that the night would help his confusion pass. He was only putting an elaborate joke in play and the police were even only actors. It makes more sense than her husband suddenly losing his mind.

It is a while before she forces herself to stop and get out of bed. No matter how great her distress she has to do something. It's the same way she always fought her loneliness; she had no time to feel lonely if she was busy.

He still needs to eat.

She is startled to see him still in the kitchen. He does not speak when his dark, tired eyes move to her, though he does tense when she moves toward him. She steps back, biting her lip and looking away. She lets out a breath, hoping it will soothe her. 

It does not. 

She forces herself to move, repeating her list of tasks mentally. She opens the curtains that she'd closed the night before, hoping that the sunlight will help lighten the mood. George hisses from the sudden brightness. She places bread into the toaster and sets the coffee maker to brew. She takes eggs and bacon from the fridge, putting them to fry.

All the sounds and smells are familiar and serene, nearly lulling her into the stable comfort of her routine. But every time she turns and sees her husband just sitting there, hunched over the table, hands in his messy fair hair that she wants to tame, it breaks her heart a little more.

"Did you get any sleep?" she asks, pouring him a cup of coffee.

"How could I?" His tone is flat, his words drawled, his eyes a tired glare as they meet hers. She puts the coffee down in front of him and his eyes fall to it, his face giving nothing away. She'd always been able to read him so easily and it breaks her.

She takes the eggs and bacon off of the stove and fetches a pair of plates. The ones she chooses had been a wedding gift to her parents, which they'd in turn passed down to George and her. She'd always told him how dear the dishes are to her, even more so when her parents had died a few years ago. George has helped her manage her grief. She hopes that they will remind him of what they have.

She smiles when he takes a sip from the cup, his face brightening from the buzz. She places the food before him and sits across from him.

She lets him get through half his plate before speaking. "George…we need to talk about this."

He sighs through a chew and swallows. He pushes his plate away. "You finally want to tell me where he is?"

She bites back a retort and lets out another breath. "There is no baby, George."

He doesn't reply.

"You don't think I would remember being pregnant?"

"You think I would forget?"

She holds back a bitter laugh. "Do I look like someone who's had a baby?"

"Don't do this, Glory," he hunches over again, holding his head in his hands.

"Do what?"

"I'm not crazy, Glory."

"I never said you were."

"Stop it."

"What, George?"

"Stop talking to me like I'm crazy," he shouts. "Why are you doing this? Where is the crib? Where are all the toys? Why are you doing all of this?"

"George -"

"Shut up!" he stands and swipes his arm across the table.

She does not hear the crashing and shattering of the ceramic. She does not even see George leave the kitchen, hear the car start and drive away.

She only sees the plate cleaved in two jagged halves, strewn on the linoleum floor.


	3. Chapter 3

The police return that evening. 

George had returned not too long before that. He is upstairs and Glory and the officer from the day before -she tells Glory her name is Mallory -wait for him to come down.

Soon there are steps coming down the stairs.

Glory is seated on the couch, hoping over hope that he will sit beside her.

He looks around the living room, his eyes resting on the officer and then Glory, the tea and cakes on the coffee table, before he goes to sit on the single seat.

"What?" He still looks tired, but not as much as he'd been in the morning. Glory can't help wondering where he'd been.

"Pleasant evening to you too, Mr. Jameson." She tips her hat at him. He does not blink. "We checked with the hospital this morning -"

"And?"

She scowls at him but he is unfazed. "And we went through their records for the past year. There is no record of a Derrick Jameson being born in that hospital."

Glory's eyes go wide and she turns to George.

"How dare you?" she all but screams.

"What?" he turns his expressionless gaze on her.

"That is my father's name." She stands. Officer Mallory puts up her hand in a placating gesture, but she ignores her. "How dare you?"

"How dare I?" He stands as well. "You chose the name yourself!"

"Sir, Ma'am, I need you both to calm down and sit," the officer says.

"Don't do this, George." She shakes her head, holding her tears back. "You can stop now. It wasn't funny when it started."

"I agree," he spits. "This can all stop when you bring him back."

"George-"

"Enough!" Mallory stands between them and pushes them both back. "I will call backup if this does not stop immediately." She stares them both down and even George eases back into his seat under her steely glare.

"Good," she says. "Yesterday you told me that you are not familiar with any of your neighbours so they would not be aware of your child's birth, yes?" George gives a stiff nod. "But your elderly next door neighbour, Paul O'Bryan, constantly complained to you about the baby's crying."

Glory hides her face in her hands from the ridiculousness of it all.

"That's what Glory tells me," he says. "I'm not around often enough to be sure."

"Well, Mr. Jameson, I'm sorry to say that Mr. O'Bryan passed a couple of weeks ago," she pauses as if to let it sink in. "He had a heart attack."

"How convenient." He turns to Glory. She can't help gasping at his tone.

"We asked around the street and no one could confirm that they ever heard any baby crying here."

"Like I said: convenient." He does not bother looking at her this time.

"Mr. Jameson, are you certain that you and your wife have a child?"

"I refuse to answer such a ridiculous question."

"M'hm." The officer writes something down in her notepad. "Does your family have a history of mental conditions, Mr. Jameson?"

"I would like it if you leave," George says and turns away from her.

"Of course," she says. "I would like to inform you that with the severe lack of evidence in this case we have no choice but to call off the investigation."

"I would expect nothing less."

"Good night, Sir, Ma'am." She tips her hat and leaves.

They sit there alone, silent for a long moment. Glory is frozen in her rage. It had been too much from the start but now he had gone too far.

She gets up and walks to stand before him.

"George, I don't know what this is but it has to stop right now," she says, voice trembling. "You need to snap out of it. Whatever this is it's tearing us apart. Just…come back." She falls to her knees. "Please."

His eyes fall on her once more. There's nothing in them. Not anger. Not sadness. Not even the madness that she fears to see there. Just emptiness, deep and glassy.

He puts his hand to her cheek. Her heart warms, a smile spreading on her lips. Hope blossoms like a bud in spring and she can already feel the winter passing. They can still fix it.

Yet his face is blank. He stands and walks away, leaving her in the living room and heading up to their bedroom.

She is too stunned to move and she can only sit there, kneeling, waiting to see what he does next.

He comes back down, his travel suitcase in hand. From the hallway he looks at her, eyes still empty, and without a word he walks out the front door.

The car starts and drives away.

A cold wind rips the bud from the tree. The winter has hardly begun.


	4. Chapter 4

She is sitting in the yard, rocking in a wicker rocking chair. Rays of sunlight make the day bright and birds sing in the trees.

But she does not see any of that. There is nothing in the world but the bundle in her arms.

He's been with her for four months but every time she sets her eyes on him it's like the first.

She knows everything about him: the feel of his soft blond hair, just like his father's; his skin as silky smooth as when she'd first held him; he is asleep now, his eyes closed, but she remembered clearly the bright brown eyes that were just the same shade as hers. She'd seen it all before but every day she adored every part of him.

She wanted the moment to never end.

A chill breeze blows through her and she is cold to the bone, already shivering. She looks up and the sun is gone, the whole sky covered in large black clouds. Lightning blinds her, thunder rends the air ,and she covers up her child from the showering rain.

The baby sleeps through it all.

She stands to get out of the storm but she stops. Someone is in the storm and he walks towards them. She is afraid at first, but she just as soon feels silly for it. She knows him. She's always known him. She motions for him to hurry out of the rain and come into the house with them.

She opens the door and turns to tell him to go in when he snatches the baby from her. She is confused and laughs nervously. Certain it's all in good faith, she looks up to see his face.

There is none. His face is a mass of shadows, so dark she feels that she could touch it. She does not want to. She does not know him anymore. She wants her baby back.

He steps back into the storm, cradling the baby to his chest. She screams at him. He turns to walk away.

She wants to follow him but her feet do not move. She looks down.

Black hands from the ground grab at her, keeping her rooted in her spot. She screams again but no sound comes out. The baby starts to cry.

The hands pull at her, dragging her down into the ground. She tries to scream again but a hand covers her mouth. The hands are all over her now and she's up to her neck in the ground.

The shadow looks back at her once more before disappearing in the storm, the baby wailing all the while.

***

She falls out of bed. Her mouth is open but no sound comes out.

She knows she's awake but her eyes remain shut. She knows that it was a dream but she fears her reality as well -perhaps even more.

It's a full minute before she can convince herself to open her eyes. It is still dark. She looks to her bedside clock and sees it is only a little past three. She curses.

It has been four days since George left her and every night since then she'd been having the same dream. The baby that she loved in the morning. The familiar stranger that came with the storm.

She has no idea what it means. Her only concern is getting them to stop.

She has tried to reach George on the phone but he does not. He never missed her calls, not even when he was in a different time zone and she really needed to speak with him.

She is angry at him. She stews in her rage everyday, cleaning the house with more vigour than she ever had before ever since he'd walked out on her. 

But she still misses him.

She hates herself for it. She knows that she has no fault and he is the one with problems that need to be addressed and he's acting poorly, but she misses him more than she ever has before.

The nightmares do not help. She has no idea why she's having them but they need to stop. They scare her more than anything and she's too afraid to go to sleep for them.

She looks at the clock. Not a minute has passed.

She sits back on the bed and hugs a pillow, her back to the headboard.

It will be a long night but she'll wait it out.


	5. Chapter 5

The mug drops from her shaking hands at the sound of a car coming down the driveway.

She stands frozen in the kitchen, her sleep-starved mind taking ages to understand what is happening.

He's back. He's back.

She is stuck deciding between whether to feel relieved or furious. She is too tired to decide. Her mind can only wrap itself around the one thought.

He's back.

She stares at nothing, unmoving, even as the car door opens and closes, unhesitating steps making their way up to the front door. She does not even move when she hears the heavy knock on the door.

He's back.

It is only when the coffee spreading on the floor starts to burn her bare feet that she moves again.

She moves slowly, her heart beating too fast in her chest. The door looks to be a mile away, but with every step closer she dreads what she will see on the other side.

It has been a full month since he left. Why now? She had missed him, just like she used to before…everything. But now that he is back she is not sure that she is ready to see him. Is he still cold? Is he still grieving their 'child'? What will she say to him?

No more time to think -the door is one step away. But she stands there, staring at the knob, convincing herself that she's ready to see him again, that it's not the heart in her chest that is taking faltering beats.

He knocks again.

She exhales. 

She unlocks the door and steps back.

The door opens and he is standing there, a shy smile on his face. She does not have the energy to return it. Her face is a blank mask and though she is looking at him her eyes have no focus.

"I'm home," he says and lifts his suitcase, the motion drawing her eyes. She does not move.

"Can I come in?" She takes a moment before stepping out of the way. His brow furrows, but his eyes stay soft, sad. He steps in, closes the door, and sets the case down. He takes her shoulders in his hands. "Glory…I'm ready to talk."

***

"It just feels so surreal. Like I'm waking up from a dream that's so clear I expect it to keep going on. I guess maybe I was just so confused or something, but I'm wide-awake now. I've never said it out loud because I wanted you to be the first to hear it."

She leans on the armrest and fights to keep her eyes open. His voice is too calm, measured, but not in the way it had been before. No abrasive, clipped words. These are soft and flowing and not at all what she'd been expecting, and she'd seen many other ways this moment could have turned out. She can barely hear the words that lull her away.

She silently mourns her spilt coffee.

"Glory, there is no baby." He slips down from the couch and kneels before her, taking her hands in his. "I'm so sorry."

She hasn't said a word since he came in, and since he left she hardly found use for her voice. Even still she is too tired to force her lips to move. So she gives him a slow nod in response and forces her lips to stretch in a smile.

He smiles too, tears brimming in his eyes. "Oh my God. Please, Glory, will you forgive me? Please, please, please."

The tears spill over and he buries his face in her lap, sobs wracking his body. Her eyebrows move up only slightly. She is not surprised by his tears -they have both cried in each others' arms several times. She is only shocked by the suddenness of it all, that he has appeared back home with no warning.

And inside, her heart burns. She knows that he is sincere, that he feels horrible for what he has done and that he will beg for her forgiveness until she gives it to him. And she hates it.

She hates that he's stealing her anger from her, that he's taking away her right to be furious at him. She has always been the forgiving type and she more often forgot slights against her than not. But she had spent a month alone in her home -their home -sadness eating away at her until there was nearly nothing left of her. Then she'd found her anger.

It was the only thing she'd had. She was not used to it and had had no idea what to do with it but she'd known that it was the only thing keeping her going and she'd loved it.

Now, because he is blubbering in her lap, it has left her and everything is alright.

Her eyes narrow and her hands ball into fists.

Yet, seeing him like this reminds her of what she's always wanted -for him to be with her. And now he is. Though she hates the feeling of it, her heart lightens in her chest, and her plastic smile melts into one that is soft and satisfied.

She strokes the back of his head.

"It's fine, George," she croaks. She coughs. "You're here, we're together. Everything is alright."

It's a while before his sobs die down and he looks up at her, eyes red and swollen. He frowns, as if seeing her for the first time. "Are you alright?" He sits back on his haunches. "You look like a mess."

Her eyes go far away and she can see it again. The baby. The sun. The shadow. The storm.

Every time she closed her eyes she could see them again and she was never sure what part terrified her the most. Every night she'd wake up screaming, so alarmed that she shivered for hours.

She'd become so terrified of the dreams that the thought of sleeping had become a horror on its own, so much so that she had resolved to stop sleeping altogether.

"Come to bed with me." He stands, pulling her to him. "I've missed sleeping next to you so much it's killing me."

Her eyes go wide. She starts to quake. It had been a battle staying awake while sitting. She longs to feel him beside her again but the thought of slipping away in a bed makes her want to scream.  
But she is too tired to fight as lifts her into his arms and carries her up the stairs, lays her into the horribly soft bed and dreadfully comfortable pillows, and drapes the deathly cloud that is their blanket over her. The last thing her eyes see before drooping closed is George settling beside her, his body pressing into hers until his warmth fills her and takes her away.

Her sleep is mercifully dreamless.


	6. Chapter 6

She stirs in her sleep and reaches across the bed for George. Her arm falls on the empty bed.

She frowns, her eyes still closed. But realisation soon follows and her eyes shoot open.

The sun has only started to rise. She sits up and looks around the room.

Empty.

She clutches the sheets to her chest, her breaths become shallow and fast.

For the two weeks since George had come back they'd been together all the time. She went to sleep with him beside her and woke wrapped in his arms. There were nothing but smiles the whole time and she'd finally felt like that awful chapter had finally drawn to a close. Like she'd finally awoken from a horrible dream into the reality of knowing that she was stronger, better, just for having him by her side.

Today she'd woken from a dreamless sleep into a nightmare.

The tears have started to pour when the bedroom door opens.

His steps are light as he balances a tray on one hand, turning to close the door as gently as he can.

"George?"

He startles and the tray crashes to the floor. "Shit!" he whispers. He goes down and starts to pick up broken plastic and scattered food. He sees the futility of it and stands. "I made breakfast," he motions to the mess. "Sorry."

She sighs. Inside, she scolds herself for her panic. "You didn't have to," she chokes.

"Hey, hey, hey." He rushes to her and sits on the edge of the bed. "What's wrong? Did I do something?" He puts his hand over hers.

She shakes her head and puts her other hand on his. "Nothing." She raises his hand to her cheek. "It's fine."

He strokes her cheek. "I wanted to surprise you.," he says. "Guess I still did, didn't I." He looks at the mess. "Sorry, I'll clean that up."

"It's fine, George." She puts her head on his shoulder. "But why so early? It can wait a few hours."

He tenses under her hold and she looks up at him. He bites his lip. "George?"

"I'm so sorry, honey." He holds her shoulders. "I didn't know how to tell you. You were just so happy and I missed you and I didn't want to ruin it again. But the office called last night and I need to go on another trip. I know its sudden but I have to go or I'll lose my job and I just -"

"Shh." She puts her hand over his mouth and smiles. The air in her lungs start to build into a scream and the tears start to come again. But she'd always known that it wasn't going to last forever and though the thought of him leaving kills her, she'd known that it was bound to happen. "How long?"

"A week, tops." He promises. "I'll get on the first plane back, I swear." He stands. "Give me one second." He rushes out the door and her eyes go wide.

In a moment he returns with an animal carry cage in his hand, the front covered with a towel and her eyes go wider. "I can't imagine how lonely it gets around her and just so you have company…" He whips off the towel with a flourish and a dog barks.

"Oh, George." She comes down from the bed and goes to him. She peers through the bars at the puppy inside. Its eyes are dark and wide, its tongue lolling out the side of its mouth as it pants. "George, he's beautiful."

"I knew you'd love him." He sets the cage down and flips open the door. The puppy leaps out and barks, pawing at Glory's feet. She picks it up and raises it to eye level. It barks and starts to lick her face. She turns her face away as she laughs.

"I know its not enough -"

"George," she puts the puppy down and hugs him. "He's perfect."

***

Having to watch George leave again was just as painful to watch as the first time. Before, all she'd had to put her mind off of his absence was the endless chain of tasks she set for herself. But she has Little George now, and a break from routine, though daunting, excites her.

She finishes breakfast and puts away the dishes. "George," she calls and laughs to herself at the joke. George, her husband, had not been nearly as amused, but Little George had seemed to love the name. She'd set him loose to get to know the house but now she felt it was time to go out and play in the yard.

"George." She goes into the living room to look for him. Her heart picks up but she forces herself not to panic. Panic won't do anything but upset you. "George!"

She searches the whole ground floor and goes upstairs. "George," she calls again. Maybe he doesn't know his name yet. He probably shut himself in one of the rooms. Perhaps he wants to play hide and seek?

The dog is not in the house.

She comes down the stairs and sees that the front door is slightly open. Her breaths halt in her chest.

She steps outside into the front yard for the first time in a long while. She can't admire the changes in the street, look to see who's taken occupation of Mr. O'Bryan's house.

All she sees is the brown lump in the middle of the street.


	7. Chapter 7

A bird. The sun. The shadow. The storm.

A hamster. The sun. The shadow. The storm.

A rabbit. The sun. The shadow. The storm.

A dog. The sun. The shadow. The storm.

Every night, it is one or the other. Every night she wakes with wide eyes, screaming for a missing pet, gasping in bed to fill her empty lungs. In the darkness she wakes to, there is a figure watching from the corner, or outside the second storey window, or standing at the foot of her bed. She cowers deeper into her bed, dares another look, and sees nothing. Every night.

To say that she has become used to the dreams is benign. She expects them, anticipates them…dreads them. Every time that she can't stop her eyes from going closed she knows what awaits her in the place of dreams.

She knows it is not real, that none of it is. She never had a baby. She never had a pet. Yet, something in the back of her mind keeps saying, maybe.

Maybe.

The dreams come so often that they now feel like memories. Perhaps, in a time long forgotten, she did have a bird. A parakeet, perhaps. But one day she'd awoken and it was gone.

"To a better place," her mother had said.

She has the foggiest memory of a caged hamster. Another flash in her mind of a goldfish in a bowl. Present in one moment and suddenly not.

Maybe.

Now more than ever the thought of going to bed terrifies her. She longed for sleep when she was without George, but now…

George. He has called her several times until she could no longer stand the taunting rings of the phone and was forced to disconnect the line, lest her guilt drive her mad. He must be worried sick and the thought of doing that to him only makes her guilt more nagging, but she cannot bear to have the conversation that would ensue if they were to speak.

"How are you doing?" he would ask.

"Fine." she would lie.

"Hope 'George' is keeping you company. How is he?"

Then she would freeze, unable to reply.

She is not sure why.

She fights sleep ferociously, but her body is too tired to battle any longer. She slips off into dreams of storms and shadows.


	8. Chapter 8

George will return today.

That is all she can think about. He will return and meet her in the same state that he had when he had last left her. She has been too exhausted to make herself look even slightly presentable -her hair is dishevelled, her eyes bloodshot and baggy, and there is certainly a peculiar odour about her.

She is more concerned with seeing George. Time used to be when she counted down to the minute that George would walk through the door. She did the same now, though for a different purpose. Now she is anxious of facing him, of telling him what has happened.

She does not flinch when the knock sounds. She sees this as to her credit. She gathers the pile of anxiety and exhaustion she has become and opens the door.

The words start flowing as soon as he sees her. "Honey, I'm so sorry. I've been trying to reach you -"

"Just fine, thank you." she recites. From the screwing of his face she knows that her automated response has failed. "I'm sorry, what?"

He looks her over for a moment before guiding her to the living room. He sits beside her on the love seat, but with a distance between them.

"Glory. Are you alright?"

"Of course." she says, her words rolling into each other. "Yes. I'm fine." The seat is too comfortable. She'd spent most of the week leaning on walls and tables to keep herself awake. But she couldn't get up for fear of making him more suspicious. "You were speaking?"

"Um, yes…" he says. The concern is washed away by guilt but it takes her a while to notice the change. "It's about...Little George."

The conversation she'd been dreading. She'd spent the week obsessively thinking about how to get out of admitting her carelessness. But they'd never lied to each other and she wouldn't start now. Before he could continue she recited her confession.

"He was run over. I left the door open and he got out and I was looking for him and he was just dead. I'm so sorry, George. I'm sorry." She collapses into him, her sobbing sapping even more energy from her until all she could do was lean on him.

"Glory. No. This isn't your fault." He rubs her back. 

She'd known he would do this -try to make her feel better. But she didn't want to feel better. His gift to her and she's been so careless. She just wanted to feel horrible forever.

She wants to tell him to stop, to not console her because she deserves to feel as horrible as she does.

She opens her mouth to say this as he says, "It's mine. I ran him over."

She goes solid in his hold.

"I was running late for my flight and I was in a hurry. He must have followed me outside and when I got into the car I backed into him. I would have stopped but I was just so late and I'm so sorry you had to see that. 

"That's why I was calling so much and when you disconnected the line I thought you were so mad at me. And knowing that all this time you've been blaming yourself just makes me feel worse, Glory. I'm sorry."

He hugs her but she doesn't move.

She's not angry at him. She's not relieved that she's not responsible for Little George dying. She doesn't feel silly for worrying so much about everything.

She doesn't feel anything.

George is mumbling into her ears but she can't hear a word he's saying. The world just dims and mutes around her. Every corner seems darker, every shadow thicker.

There's no singing from the birds in the garden and the sunlight seems to stop just outside the windows, like the light is afraid to come in.

George is still speaking, and past the droning that his voice has become, she can imagine that he's saying something that requires a response..

"What?" she asks, and everything is as it should be. She can hear the singing birds and the sunlight banishes the creeping shadows.

"I have a gift for you, if you don't mind." he says, not meeting her eye. It reminds her of when they were still just dating. His sudden spells of bashfulness was one of the things that made her fall in love with him.

At the moment it makes her feel nothing.

"Of course," she says, trying and failing to put levity in her tone.

He steps out and the air feels lighter, more breathable. She'd never felt more relieved for him to be gone. She is not sure how she feels about this.

He returns too soon, a cage in his hands. No hiding the surprise this time. "I think we should get a do-over. Together this time," he says.

The puppy in the cage is dark furred, midnight black if she'd ever seen the colour. It cowers, pressed into the back of the cage.

She gets up, walking to George and the dog. She releases the latch on the door and reaches in. She does so mechanically, extending her fingers for the dog to sniff.

She does not hear it's growling, see it bare it's teeth.

It snaps at her and she pulls her hand away, missing it's teeth by a hair. She swings the door shut and catches the latch.

"Take it back," she says, her level tone leaving no room for dialogue. George simply nods and takes the dog back out. The car starts and he is gone.

The house grows dark, the sun stopping at the windows once more. She cannot hear the birds anymore and the shadows seem doubly dark.

The darkness shows no signs of leaving.


	9. Chapter 9

George has another month off from having to travel.

The house has never felt so suffocating.

Every time he wants to be near her she finds that there is a new task that needs to be completed. It feels like she can only breathe when he is not in her immediate thoughts.

She finds herself thinking of him less and less.

The house is still dark, the shadows still menacing. She has tried opening the windows but it seems to do as much good as a match in a cavern.

Having made the rest of the house spotless and giving herself nothing else to do, she heads to the attic to reorganise it, certain it would take more than a day to do and so giving her an excuse to be away from George. Somehow the dusty air is more palatable.

She opens a trunk and it is full of photo albums. The one on top is from their wedding day.

She recalls that day to be the happiest of her life, cliche as it might sound. But it had not been the ceremony or people sharing in her joy that had made the day. It was George promising himself to her, and herself to him. It was knowing that it meant they would be together until the bitter end of it.

Perhaps it had called to her. Maybe she just wanted to see that utter devotion on her face again to remember what it was like to feel nothing but nothing about him.

The first picture is just the two of them, staring into each others eyes. Their smiles are more than happy. They are in pure bliss and it's impossible to imagine them coming down from there.

There is a touch of red in George's eye. She expected better for all the money they'd paid the photographer, but it had seemed inconsequential then.

The next is of them feeding each other cake. But not in the messy way. George had always known that she was a neat freak and she'd be damned if she let her dress be stained.

George's smile seems to be too wide and the amount of teeth he's showing is unnerving. Did he always smile like that? She remembers liking his smile. Seeing it now she can't imagine why.

In the next picture they are dancing and her back is to the camera, George's face on display. But his eyes aren't locked on hers through the dance as she remembered. He is staring at the camera now. He is staring at her.

It would have been fine and good if he had simply been glancing, his cheeky smile on his face. The red eye is prominent in this picture and his smile is still showing too many teeth. The combination of all the factors is so unnerving that she flinches from the album.

She realises that she's being silly and shakes her head to herself. She flips the page to the next picture.

Page after page he's looking at the camera, at her. His eyes are too red, his smile predatory, his face veiled in a shadow making him seem all the more sinister.

She puts the album away and collects her thoughts.

Age has warped the pictures, obviously. Yes. What else could it be?

She takes out an album of their courting days. Seeing that his face is just like in the wedding album relieves her slightly. The pictures are even older and would likely be more susceptible to whatever happened to the ones wedding pictures.

She refuses to consider the fact that it is only George's face that is distorted.

She puts the album back and shuts the trunk, too mentally exhausted to do continue any work. She could probably fall asleep immediately she reaches the bedroom to avoid having to talk to him.

"Glory? Are you in here?"

She only barrely holds back her sigh as he reaches the top of the ladder. "Glory?"

"Here," she says. "Just doing some rearrangements." She pushed the trunk as if to give proof.

"Didn't you hear me call you?" He walks up behind her. "I've been looking for you all around."

"Sorry," she says unapologetically. " I was just -"

She freezes when she sees his face.

"Glory? What's wrong?"

His face is just like in the pictures. Eyes too red to be just bloodshot, his teeth to sharp for him to be speaking without hurting himself, a veil of shadows hanging over his face.

She cannot see his concern, only the culmination of his features making him appear as a predator, and she fears that if she moves to much the consequences may be dire.

"Glory…" He reaches to her and she flinches away, falling back.

She looks at him again and she only sees his face, the face that she's always known him to bear, his eyes red from waking, his teeth as white as ever, and his face dark on account of being in a dimly lit attic.

"Sorry," she forces a yawn and gets up. "I'm just really tired. I think I'll go to bed now."

She pushes past him, not waiting for his reply.

"It's the middle of the day!" he calls as she reaches the bottom of the ladder.

She cannot tell in the darkness of the house.


	10. Chapter 10

She is sitting in the yard, rocking in a wicker rocking chair. Rays of sunlight make the day bright and birds sing in the trees.

But she does not see any of that. There is nothing in the world but the bundle in her arms.

A chill breeze blows through her and she is cold to the bone, already shivering. She looks up and the sun is gone, the whole sky covered in large black clouds. Lightning blinds her, thunder rends the air ,and she covers up her child from the showering rain.

The baby sleeps through it all.

She stands to get out of the storm but she stops. Someone is in the storm and he walks towards them. She is afraid at first, and rightfully so. She knows him. She's always known him.

She holds her baby away from him.

He snatches it from her anyway. Terror seizes her and she looks up to see his face.

There is none. His face is a mass of shadows, so dark she feels that she could touch it. She does not want to. She knows exactly who he is and she wants her baby back.

He steps back into the storm, cradling the baby to his chest. She curses at him. He turns to walk away.

She wants to follow him but her feet do not move. Hands from the ground grab at her, rooting her in place. She curses some more but the storm tears the words from her mouth. The baby starts to cry.

The shadow looks back at her once more and she can see the face behind the veil. The face she has come to hate. Black ringed red eyes and too many white teeth.

He disappears into the storm, the baby wailing all the while.

***

A tram in the street, a car speeding towards it.

No one to stop it.


	11. Chapter 11

The air is too thick to breathe, whether he is with her or not. She knows he is there and it is killing her.

The house is dark, day and night make no difference. The shadows are holes in the world and move through them, always in the edge of her vision, never being known but always taunting her.

She stands over George. He is sleeping. She can still see some of the hints of the angel she had once imagined him to be. 

But angels fall.

She had loves him once. Then she'd felt nothing for him. Now she hates him.

Nothing but grief has come from him. All he does is take -coming with a storm, leaving in a whirlwind, leaving her to pick the pieces on her own.

She can be done with him. It will not take much. And when he's gone all that he's taken will be put back.


	12. Chapter 12

She rocks the bundle in her arms. She knows everything about him: the feel of his soft blond hair, just like his father's, but it doesn't matter because he's not him. She won't let him be. She can't help adoring every part of him even though she's seen it all before.

It doesn't matter where the car with the flashing lights takes her because she'll always have her baby. All that matters is that they're together and they can never be apart again.

She wants the moment to never end.


End file.
